The Fire That Burns Us
by Duck2
Summary: SSHP. Set durring OotP. A.U. Harry hides in the halls of Hogwarts after detention with Umbridge. Guess who finds him. Slash. Mature audience only.
1. Chapter 1

The Fire that Burns Us

Author Note: Characters aren't mine, not making any money whatsoever…The work itself on the other hand is mine. Story is set during OotP. Includes elements of slash, student/teacher relations and an underage boy. Originally posted on The Ink Stained Fingers Archive, has been re-written a bit since then, no changes in the story, just some re-wording.

Someone was out in the hall past curfew. Severus Snape just knew it; he had a sixth sense about such things. They were somewhere near Gryffindor Tower where all those abandoned classrooms were. Why anyone would be out in the halls this late was a mystery to him. No one in their right mind would willingly walk these cold halls this late. The grounds were blanketed in snow and the chill of the stone floors was almost overwhelming. Snape stalked his way down the corridor and paused hearing a strange sound- like a strangled sob bitten off at the end. Left, another corridor, the second door to the right was cracked open slightly. He stood there listening, someone was crying. That was no excuse, it was well after midnight. Snape threw open the doorway his wand sending a beam of light into the room.

Curled into the windowsill, brilliantly backlit by the moon was none other than Harry Potter looking very much like a trapped rabbit. His rapid breathing turned to vapor in the air.

"Well well, Mister Potter." Harry leaped to his feet furiously wiping at his eyes and stood glaring at his professor with his hands tucked behind his back "You do realize you are breaking curfew?"

"Yes sir." His voice was hoarse and strained.

"What are you hiding?" Snape barked noticing Harry's hands.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" said Snape walking closer to the trembling boy "Than you wouldn't mind if I had a look."

"No!" Harry's voice cracked as he took a quick step backwards, bright green eyes going wide and panicked.

"Come now Potter, I don't bite." said Snape placing just enough stress on the right words to make Harry wonder if his professor really would take a nibble. Know resistance would get him nowhere; he rather reluctantly stretched out his right hand which was wrapped in a scarf. Snape removed it revealing the words _I must not tell lies_ etched deeply into the tender skin, slowly oozing blood.

"You should see Madam Pomfrey about this." Snape remarked softly, the malice in his voice somewhat lessened.

"I can't." said Harry as if it were the end of it.

Snape mulled this over for a moment. The edges of the wound were red with the beginnings of an infection.

"Come with me." Harry followed his professor down to the dungeons without any complaints; he had learned when not to put up a fuss. He was surprised when Snape lead him past the doors to both the potions labs and his office. Instead they went through a heavily padlocked door that Snape opened with an ornate key. It led to another, much shorter hallway, at the end of which was a massive painting. Harry stopped to stare. It showed a beautiful young woman in a fine white dress that was just a little too sheer. Her dark hair trailed well past her waist and her pale skin seemed to glow softly. She stood so still and seemed so perfect; he almost thought it was a regular muggle painting until she moved.

"Who's your guest?" she purred. She rolled the syllables over her tongue, playing with the sounds like they were candy. Her voice was low and rich. Those dark eyes stared at Harry, images of warm bodies and darkened rooms suddenly leapt to mind. He blushed furiously and felt his knees go weak.

"His name is Harry Potter and he is off limits. Now would you let me in?" said Snape.

She tossed her hair and laughed, sending shivers up Harry's spine. There was something feral in that laugh, something almost predatory. Her movements were like a very large and dangerous cat, slow and full of power. Snape alone seemed unaffected.

"You're no fun Severus." The portrait swung open and the two of them stepped inside, the woman's laugh following them until the door was shut.

It was pitch black until, with a flick of Snape's wand, the fireplace and a few lanterns leaped to life illuminating their surroundings. The fireplace was large enough to roast an entire elk, massive pieces of furniture crouched on the stone floor like prowling animals, there was an entire wall of nothing but books and scrolls so tightly packed in that piles had been resigned to the floor. Snape let his heavy winter cloak simply drop to the floor as he disappeared through a doorway leaving Harry to stand uncomfortable and alone in the middle of the cold room. He looked around taking in the details. There was a beautiful full suit of armor in one corner, the many individual plates delicately embossed and made to vaguely resemble feathers. Swords were displayed on the walls, their slender curving blades unlike any he had seen before. Snape returned moments later with a heavily laden tray. His usual layers of black clothing had been reduced to a white button-up shirt and soft hewn trousers.

"Sit."

Harry stood there staring dumbly as Snape settled himself into a chair struck by his liquid grace, suddenly reminded of how the lady in the painting seemed to dance without moving.

"Don't be silly boy! You're freezing, now stop looking so shell-shocked, sit down by the fire and drink some tea."

Jerked out of his woolgathering, he sat and picked up a cup. "Why did you say I was off limits?"

"Margot is a Leanan-Sidhe, had I not told her so she might have tried to enchant you and you may have been injured or driven mad. I was quite surprised, she doesn't take an interest to just anybody."

"Oh." A pause a he grasped for some other topic of conversation. One that didn't involve him going mad, he was sick of that. "That's a beautiful suit of armor."

"It's very old," said Snape softly his eyes going distant "From a race that has long since left this world. Even wizards only have a handful of broken records, most of which are in this room." For a moment Harry thought he heard something almost wistful in his voice, and then it was gone.

Snape gave a small shake of his head and moved his chair closer to examine Harry's injured hand. He carefully bathed it in a small bowl, applied a sweet smelling salve and a bandage. Harry was surprised by the gentleness of those calloused hands. He examined the man before him in detail. It struck him suddenly that Snape's hair was not really that greasy, but its weight and texture made it appear so. He breathed in his scent analyzing each note; he recognized patchouli, vetivert and mint. It smelled earthy and warm and somehow green.

"I can't heal it. It would raise her suspicions, but this will help. I can give you some more salve to take with you. If you're lucky it won't even scar."

"Thank you sir."

Snape looked up at him slowly, his oil-black eyes dimly reflecting the firelight.

Harry leaned forward suddenly and kissed his potions master. It was quick and a little clumsy, just a soft brushing of lips at first. There was the barest moment of hesitation, terrified of being shoved away.

Those strong hands came up and Harry just knew what would happen next: shoved away, yelled at, 500 no 1,000 points from Gryffindor and I'll be damned in you ever set foot in this school again. He waited for that moment but that moment didn't come. Instead, those hands trailed along his spine where one came to rest at the small of his back, the other at his neck pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, making Harry gasp softly in surprise. Lips parted, a tiny flicker of tongue against tongue sending a shower of sparks through his mind.

"You're shaking." Snape's voice was a deep and lusty rumble. Harry only pulled him closer, determined to soak up the warmth radiating from his sinuous body. There was a sweet tangle of tongues, one hand trailed under his shirt. Sharp teeth worked their way ever so slowly down his neck pausing to suck a love bite below his collarbone. Suddenly, Harry found himself on the floor, Snape above him, his kisses growing more passionate, more forceful. Dizzy with passion, a stray thought passed through Harry's mind _this must be that fire everyone talks about_. He could feel hands moving on him, trailing ever so slowly lower…

He suddenly gasped, hips bucking upward into the touch. Snape started slowly, his expert hands pulling pleasure from the boy pinned beneath him. He wasn't thinking now, there was only him and this perfect boy and the fire that consumed them both. Harry moaned, and he worked faster. He could feel Harry go tense under him. The shock of climax suddenly brought Snape to his senses. He pulled away to stare at the shinning whiteness on his hands, and felt his stomach give a sickening lurch.

Harry sat up, concerned "Sn...Severus-"

"Get out." Snape's voice was little more than a growl.

"But…Sir?"

"GET OUT!"

Startled into action Harry leaped to his feet and ran for the doorway, his robes still a complete mess. He didn't dare look back, even as heard the sound of something heavy thrown after him. Margot, was laughing as he dodged past; it was a deep throaty sound that made Harry think of being chased. He ran faster than he could ever remember and didn't stop until he reached the tower where, for the second time that night, he collapsed into mournful sobs.

A/N: I just possibly, may decide to write a sequel to this one-shot. Of course that's only if the inspiration comes and stays a while. Reviews and comments welcome. Karma to anyone who can catch the subtle reference to a certain trilogy of books.


	2. Chapter 2

The Fire that Burns Us

Chapter Two

Author Note: Characters aren't mine, not making any money whatsoever…The work itself on the other hand is mine. Story is set during A.U. OotP. Includes heavy slash, student/teacher relations and an underage boy.

Severus Snape had long ago grown weary of the cold white mornings spent at breakfast in the Great Hall. Perhaps it was simply the loud staccato voices of the children, all happily munching away, scribbling last minute assignments and generally carrying on in the loudest fashion they could manage. It had all been just bearable for his first few years teaching at Hogwarts. Slowly though the sleepless nights had gotten to him, the endless hours spend lying awake, the screaming in his head. It had started slowly enough, a few missed mornings and then the gradual loss of his morning appetite. Now for every morning that Snape made it to the high table, there were at least three spent hiding in the dungeon.

This morning Snape managed to make it to the Great Hall. Tucked under one arm was a tea tin filled with the special nerve and stomach soothing blend that Poppy so kindly kept him stocked with. He set about making his morning cup and breathed in the aroma of chamomile, mint, lemon balm and numerous other herbs. None other then Harry Potter himself happened to be directly in his line of sight as he lifted his teacup. The memories of the night before came crashing back into place with a painful abruptness.

Harry was aimlessly picking at his plate his head bowed low under some invisible emotional weight. The sight of Harry idly rubbing his slightly swollen lips brought back a tactile memory so strong that Snape had to close his eyes. He could remember the feel of the boy's thick black hair tangled in his fingers. He could almost hear those soft cries again. He remembered how sweetly he had strained, the impossible smoothness of his skin, the obscene way his spine had arched. With those memories came a flood of feelings that lay ruin to Severus Snape's carefully constructed walls. Lust, desire and passion were all there, burning like a tongue of fire in his spine. Most of all there was an overwhelming sense of despair and guilt. He had lost control of himself in those moments on the floor of his room. There were questions too. Why? What if? How? If only…

The rising clamor of the students rushing off to class grated against Snape's already raw nerves.

Harry stood slowly, lingering behind. Snape could feel the weight of those green eyes watching him with a world of demands, a barrage of unspoken questions. No, he could not, would not, it never happened. But things don't stop existing no matter how hard you try to pretend.

Slowly Severus Snape began to build the walls again, stone by stone. They were smooth and impassive these walls, with no cracks in their surface. If he could not make it go away, he could at least hide behind his walls. Walls did not make you go mad with desire; walls did not change or disappear. Walls could not hurt you so long as they stood their ground. Green eyes watched as he stood to leave the Great Hall. Somewhere, behind the walls within his mind Snape desperately wanted to answer, to talk, to touch. Instead, he turned away.


End file.
